Page 50 of Beloved Beast

“For now.”

“Yes,” he replied. “For now.”

She sat upright and looked at him inquisitively. “I wish I had a way to tell if you were lying. Are you merely telling me what I want hear, to ensure I will get on that wretched boat?”

Luke grasped her arms and pulled her to him, kissing her hard. “If you must believe anything, believe I love you. God, how I love you. Your safety is more important than my own life. We will find a way. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” She gave him a shy smile. “You said the actual words. You love me.” There was wonderment in her tone.

A lone tear escaped his eye as he embraced her. “Utterly and completely. With all my heart.” Trust. Love. He had found it again, and now he must let her go.

Chapter 21

Since Rainer had a physical description and a name, it did not take long to track Newman down. Rainer sat in his car in the sheltered drive on Hastings Avenue. He glanced at his watch. It had taken all morning to check out various Redbridge businesses, but he’d found success at the corner shop not far from this Chalet-style home.

The proprietor was eager to share all he knew of the strange Mr. Newman, an infrequent customer but a customer nonetheless. Did not buy much, coffee, bread, used his ration book for other items like tea and sugar. The owner beamed when he related the tale of Mr. Newman giving up his sweet coupons so the children on the street could have a little chocolate. He did buy the occasional handful of butterscotch candies made by the proprietor’s wife. Other than that, he was a quiet, polite-spoken man with an elegant, posh voice who often wore his hat low and his collar high to obscure his scarred face and strange shade of skin.

With the information that Newman lived in the loft at the house five doors down, Rainer parked and watched the property for any sign of life. There were backstairs leading to what he assumed was the loft Newman rented. He slid the Luger pistol from his coat pocket and checked the magazine. Fully loaded. He’d always preferred the German-made Luger over British weapons. Pushing it back into his coat, he decided he’d sat here long enough. Even though the curtains were pulled, he had to take the chance and investigate.

He quietly ascended the stairs, and when he reached the top, listened at the door. Nothing. Taking the hook pick tool from his pocket, he picked the lock and stealthily slipped into the loft.

Rainer stood stock-still, listening. Walking on the pads of his feet, he checked the few rooms then blew out a cleansing breath when he found the place empty. With an assessing gaze, he took note the place was sparsely furnished and there were no personal items about. Before he touched anything, he inspected each shelf, cupboard, or drawer for “search catches,” such as a random piece of paper stuffed between two books or a piece of hair plastered across a cupboard door. Such would give away his inspection of the room and alert his prey.

There were a number of books in the bookcase. Rainer pulled out a battered copy of Bleak House by Charles Dickens. The tome was bound in leather, though the edges were well worn. Rainer opened the book. Ah, an edition from the late 1800s. He absently flipped through the pages and stopped. Tucked between the pages was a pencil sketch of a pretty woman. But not the one he was hunting. Squinting, he took note of the signature in the corner: LWM, 1913.

Rainer slammed the book shut and placed it on the shelf. After flipping through the other books and finding nothing, he headed to the small kitchen area. The cupboards were free of food except for flour and salt. When was the man last here? He checked the rubbish bin. Nothing. He moved to the bathing room and located a few odd toiletries but no soap or shaving equipment.

Now to the bedroom. In opening the closet, he found five suits and took note of the fact there was no luggage. Pulling back the blankets and sheet on the neatly made bed, he dropped to his knees and smelled them. The faint scent of a woman’s perfume. Rainer knew it well. Chanel No. 5. He’d had a woman here, and recently. The discovery caused a ripple of excitement to rush through him. It could well be the woman he was hunting.

With quick efficiency, he remade the bed the way he’d found it then opened the few drawers of the chest. Bits of men’s clothing, nothing to indicate a woman lived there permanently. It was obvious Newman laid his head here and nothing else. This was not a home, merely a temporary resting stop. Rainer was well aware of the situation, since it summed up his own life since the war started.

And what were the chances the woman Newman had in his bed was the same woman he pursued? A hundred thousand to one. But that one chance is what would send him to Charlwood next. After he found a decent place to eat. He could use a hearty meal and a glass of wine.

Hasty pursuit increased the chances of making a mistake, of being discovered. Like any hunter he would remain cautious and diligent when searching for his target.

All in good time.

* * * *

Last night had been one of the best of Gillian’s life. After the messenger arrived, they sat and ate the last of the chicken and vegetables, rolls, bread, and cake. She wrapped the biscuits to take with her on her journey. They talked and laughed of many things, not allowing their eventual parting to cloud their last night together.

They went to bed and made love for hours, in turns, wild then tender. She awoke in his arms. Luke was awake, of course, staring down at her with a loving smile. No secrets between them now; they knew everything about each other. Regardless of his strange past, she accepted him completely. Scars and all, inside and out. In truth, she did not care how he’d been brought back from death, as long as he was here with her, loving her.

While lying together in the darkness, he had encouraged her to think long and hard during her stay in Canada. To consider all he told her, especially his possible immortality. If she decided she couldn’t accept the fact she would age while he would not, he would understand and disappear from her life. Of course, she adamantly denied such a scenario, but it was heartbreaking to consider. It was also easy to dismiss while she was still young. No doubt his late wife had the same thoughts.

A vision flashed through her mind. Gillian was lying in what looked like a hospital bed, extremely old, perhaps in her late eighties or early nineties. Wrinkled, weak, fading, and hooked up to tubes and wires. Luke sat at her bedside holding her withered hand. His hair was much longer, almost touching his shoulders. The clothes he wore were odd, a full-length black leather coat, and the shirt had a strange design with a skull at its center. He looked as young and vital as he was now. And vastly appealing in a dangerous way. Luke in the future: well into the twenty-first century.

Oh. God. She shook away the haunting image. Her clenched fist rested against her rapidly beating heart. There were many years ahead to live. Though he encouraged her to think long and hard about this, she already decided she’d accept any outcome as long as she had Luke in her life for whatever length of time they were given. In truth, wouldn’t it be harder for him? He would be the one left to mourn.

Shaking away the morbid thoughts, she focused her attention on what lay ahead tonight. Plans were in place. The fisherman had been contacted and awaited their arrival in Brighton at seven this evening. Even the ticket had been purchased for the one-way transatlantic trip. She would be sailing on the tide tomorrow. Fred had arranged for an agent to meet them in Brighton tonight to escort Gillian to Liverpool and see her safely aboard. There was even a contact person on the vessel in case she needed assistance, the purser, Mr. Grantham.

All this meticulous planning for her security. Not all agents were given this kind of attention, but the fact she’d discovered vital information on the Enigma machine made her safety the agency’s top priority. MI-6 had told her she might be of some use unraveling the mysteries of the Enigma, though she was not sure what. Gillian sighed as she finished washing the breakfast dishes. Even though her stomach was in knots, she did manage to swallow down the last of the eggs and bacon.

After she completed her chores, she wandered into the parlor and found Luke sitting in the wingchair studying papers from a folder. “What is that you’re reading?” she asked.

He waved her over, and she curled up in his lap, her head resting against his chest. “These are a copy of Reed’s notes. I’ve been reading a little each night while you slept. Take a look at this.” He pointed to a couple of paragraphs.

It is my firm belief all humans are constantly changing and every atom/molecule in an older person is different than the atom/molecule in the child they once were. Therefore, Luke’s evolution will not only contain these changes, but also the possibility of changes in mental and physical ability and longevity. He may actually be a side-step in what Darwin called ‘the origin of the species.’